


this is the faith from which we start

by hihoplastic



Series: DW Tumblr Prompts/Reposts [16]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: 2015 Xmas The Husbands of River Song, Episode: 2016 Xmas The Return of Doctor Mysterio, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: She’s barely seated before he pulls a large book out of his pocket, thrusting it under her nose. “I’m looking for a gemstone.”Vastra glares up at him a moment, but nonetheless opens the book to the cover page.  “What kind of gemstone?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> \- from tumblr prompt by anon, who requested _river and twelve visiting vastra, jenny, and strax,_ combined with [hegaveallhecouldgiveher](http://www.hegaveallhecouldgiveher.tumblr.com)'s desire for gemstone fic. it's not exactly what you asked for, but i hope you like it!  
>  \- title from leonard cohen's _villanelle for our time_

Jenny folds her arms across her chest and Vastra raises an eyebrow. 

“Seriously?”

The Doctor raises both hands. “Scouts honor!” He glances sideways at River, standing just to his left, a bemused expression on her face. “Just a visit.”

“No impending doom?” Jenny asks.

“No doom,” he promises, vaguely hoping he can keep it. Trouble does seem to find him. Or River. Or the both of them. 

“Or dragons?” Vastra adds, a knowing lilt to her voice that he doesn’t understand until her gaze shifts from him to River. 

“Oops?”

He tries not to let his mouth hang open. “When did you bring a dragon here? No, sorry, why did you— _how_ did you—”

River shakes her head, but he can tell by the glint in her eye that she wants to kiss his cheek, a habit she’s picked up that he adores, but isn’t so sure about in public. “A girl’s got to have some secrets.”

The Doctor wings an eyebrow. “I thought you said they were eggs.”

“Well, it’s not my fault they hatched early.”

Vastras sighs, but her shoulders relax and there's a slight upturn to her lips. “Really, it was a priceless vase.”

River snorts. “It was a badly done copy and you know it, don't try and guilt me.”

“And the rug?”

He eyes her, watching her expression pinch momentarily, then ease into bemusement. “Fine. But I sent you a new one.”

The Doctor glances down at the carpet. “That's new? Why’s it all dirty? Don't you have a housekeeper?”

River brightens, and he knows what she’s going to say before she says it, a groan already half out of his mouth.

“River.”

“Speaking of—”

“No,” Jenny interjects, stepping forward to halt River’s movements. “Not again.”

“What did you do?” 

“Nothing!” she protests, “We just played a little game, that’s all.”

“You took his grenades and refused to return them until he sang.”

“Sang what?”

“I hardly think that’s the point, Doctor—”

“Sang what?” he repeats.

Jenny sighs. “ _I’m A Little Teapot._ ” 

He knows he’s supposed to glare at her, reprimand her, but her lips are quirked and her eyebrow raised, arms folded under her breasts and a look in her eyes that says _dare you._

He makes a halfhearted attempt anyway. “River...try to be nice to Strax. He’s...useful.” 

“A glowing commendation, sweetie,” River teases, beaming up at him with a smile that makes his insides warm and his face go funny without his permission. 

“Are you… smiling?”

“Jenny,” Vastra scolds, and the Doctor scowls and looks away. 

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t smile,” he snaps, but it lacks the sting, and his effort is minimal at best with the way River is still watching him fondly. 

“You’re doin’ it right now!” 

Looking away, he glares at Jenny and stalks to the other side of the parlor, dropping onto the couch. “What kind of hostesses are you, anyway? No drinks, no little sandwiches—”

“Call ahead next time, then,” Vastra says smoothly, taking her place in her customary chair. Jenny sighs and bustles off to find something, food presumably, and River perches herself on the edge of the sofa next to him. His arm stretches around her and he doesn’t even notice he’s done it until she shifts just slightly, fingers brushing a sliver of bare skin above her jeans. He freezes, eyes darting to Vastra, but she appears to be distracted by whatever conversation they’re having, and he does his best to relax. 

Public displays of affection have never been his forte, but he’s been trying to be more demonstrative this go around, more affectionate in times and places that don’t necessarily lead to sex. Little touches to her elbow in the marketplace, brushing ankles at dinner, a hand at the small of her back to guide her through a crowd. 

He’s careful, he’s always careful, not to say too much to anyone or look at her too long when others are watching. It’s an old habit, one that screams at him to protect her at all costs, to never, ever show the world how important she is, how precious. He thought for a long while that he’d succeeded in fooling everyone. 

Instead, he only fooled her. 

Tamping down the guilt, he focuses on Jenny, who’s returned with a plate of scones and a pot of tea. He scoots forward on the sofa and pours some just over halfway, adds milk, breaks a sugar cube in half and adds that. He pours another cup for himself, black, and hands River hers, fingers brushing over her knuckles as she takes it from him with a smile. 

He nods, picking up his tea before leaning back into the sofa, free hand returning to its place near her hip. 

In the chair to his right, he sees Jenny duck a smile into her mug. 

“What?”

“Nothing’,” she says, then, as if she can’t help it, adds, “I just think it’s sweet is all.”

The Doctor frowns. “The tea?”

Jenny smothers a laugh. “Yeah, ‘course, Doctor. The tea.”

He’s fairly positive she isn’t talking about the tea, but he loses interest as River squeezes his shoulder. 

“Darling, what was the name of that duke again, the one who found you in Princess Rosari’s bedroom with no trousers on?”

Behind him, Jenny chokes on her tea and Vastra tilts her head at him, amused. 

The Doctor huffs. “I had trousers on.”

“I seem to remember a distinct lack of trousers—”

“And you know his name, you’re only trying to get me involved so I’ll say the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing you always want me to admit.”

River blinks at him innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was just explaining to Vastra how I had to save you from an unarmed seven year old and couldn’t remember if that was before or after you lost your trousers.”

“I didn’t lose them.”

“Then where were they?”

“They were right there, ‘round my ankles!” 

River smirks, and he can practically hear Vastra’s eye roll from across the room. Jenny, on the other hand, laughs out loud. 

“Oh, thanks,” he grumbles. 

Beside him, River preens. “That’s three for three.” She turns to Vastra. “I’m trying to see how many times I can trick him into saying it himself.”

He glares up at her, fumbling for a distraction. “You know the real question is why you let me stand there so long—I could have died!”

“Died of trousers?” Jenny asks.

“You were in no danger,” River says easily, brushing a strand of hair out of his eye. “Besides, I had to take a few pictures first. You know, for posterity.”

Jenny leans forward in her chair. “There are pictures?” 

River taps the side of her nose. 

She steers the conversation away from there, inquiring into the household, the mysteries they’ve solved, and he’s content for the moment to interject here and there. But he quickly grows bored, foot tapping and fingers unconsciously playing chords on River’s spine. His agitation must show, because River finally sighs and puts a calming hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you sure nothing’s the matter, Doctor?” Vastra asks. “It’s just you seem... tense.” 

“I’m not tense.” He pauses. “I’m always tense. That’s the one.”

River rolls her eyes. “Honest, Vastra. We just wanted to say hello.”

“You don’t require our help with anything?”

River smiles. “Not a thing. Promise.”

\--

“I need your help.”

Vastra sighs, eyeing the door Jenny and River have just disappeared through with some longing—“Of course.”—and gestures back to the parlor. “After you.”

He nods, but she’s barely seated before he pulls a large book out of his pocket, thrusting it under her nose. “I’m looking for a gemstone.”

Vastra glares up at him a moment, but nonetheless opens the book to the cover page. “What kind of gemstone?”

“The Apocalypse Monks of the Andorax call it the Hazandra. It’s small, red in color, or at least this one is. Now, I’ve tracked its origins here—” He opens the book, flipping through the pages upside down until he finds the one he wants. “They’re formed in the heart of a red hole and stabilized in pure dwarf star crystal.”

“‘They’?”

“There’s four of them. But I need this one. This book will get you started but they all just disappear toward the end.”

Vastra looks up at him with faint surprise. “You want me to find it?”

“You, Jenny, the mailman—”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Doctor, Jenny and I are fairly limited to this one time and place. Surely the TARDIS would be a better avenue—”

“Can’t use the TARDIS.”

“Why not?”

“A thing.”

Vastra glares up at him. “ ‘A thing.’ ”

“Yeah, a personal thing. Problem?”

Vastra sighs heavily and closes the book. “You’re hiding this from Professor Song.”

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

“Does it concern you?”

Vastra stands, leaving the book behind her on the chair. “Professor Song has become a friend to us over the years, Doctor. In her past and future. I won’t break her trust so easily.”

“But you will break it,” he notes. 

“If necessary. If it serves her best interests in the future.” 

Vastra stares at him, eyes wide, unblinking, but full of so much compassion, so much understanding. He looks away, tugging a hand through his hair as he paces. He has the words, for once not jumbled in his head, but every time he tries he can’t speak. Everything dies on his tongue before he can even say her name, and he sinks into the sofa, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

“She visits you, doesn’t she?” he manages, somehow. “From the Library.”

Vastra settles on the cushion next to him. “Sometimes,” she answers. “Trenzalore wasn’t our first… phone call.”

He snorts at the descriptor. “Yeah.”

“Doctor—”

“I have to fix it,” he says, the words in a gust and now that they’re out he feels like saying everything, all at once, and grits his teeth to keep it in. 

But Vastra’s voice is gentle and coaxing. “Fix what?” 

“All of it.” He swallows tightly. “It’s a prison, and I put her there. I promised her no more, and—” He shakes his head, cutting the thought away. He doesn’t have time for it, not now. Not for the anger that comes with it. “I have to get her out,” he says instead, and Vastra nods slowly.

“You think this gemstone will do that somehow?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But it's powerful, and intuitive. They call it the _Ghost of Love and Wishes._ " He shakes his head. "I don’t have any other ideas.”

“For the moment,” she says. 

He tries to smile. “For the moment.”

“In that case, Jenny and I will do our best to gather whatever information we can on these gemstones.” 

His shoulders slouch, relief crawling up his spine on a long exhale. “Thank you.”

Vastra nods and rises. “The others will be back from the market soon. Jenny never takes long. I’ll give you a moment.”

He nods, eyes following her as she picks up the book and closes the parlor doors behind her. 

\--

They come back often, and now that she knows, Jenny dutifully distracts River for at least an hour each visit while he and Vastra talk. 

Progress is slow, until he gives her a vortex manipulator and a stern lecture on time travel and paradoxes, and from there it’s easier. Every time they visit she has something new, she’s closer, and while he knows it’s not all she does, he’s seen the room she keeps, of charts and notes and red thread, and wonders if he’ll ever be able to repay their kindness. 

He’s always admired Vastra, but knowing her year to year, seeing her change, seeing Jenny age while she stays the same, there’s a kinship in that, and he understands now why she agreed to help so easily. So quickly. 

It’s become an annual trip for them, visiting Vastra and Jenny and Strax just after Christmas. They're keeping the same time, one year for everyone, and he almost likes it. The ritual, the camaraderie. 

Even River has mellowed, just a bit, taken to teasing Strax in ways that don't quite send him marching off for a weapon. Currently she’s bent over next to him by the chess table, shaking her head. 

“You’ll lose the game in three moves if you do that.”

“Preposterous! Sontarans are known for their unparalleled strategy in war!”

“This isn't war, Strax, it’s chess.”

“Chess is war.”

Plucking the bishop off the board, she relocates it, then a pawn, then a rook. 

“Wars are won and lost by numbers. Number of weapons. Number of financiers. Number of casualties.” She knocks over a knight. “In chess, you only need one.”

“One what, Madame?”

River smiles, and nods to the board, a white pawn in perfect position. “Check mate.”

The Doctor ducks his head, smirking at Strax befuddlement and then disgust as River drops a kiss to his head.

“I demand a rematch,” he insists. “For the Glory of the Sontaran Empire!”

River meets his gaze and the Doctor shrugs. “You started it.”

“Fine,” River huffs. “One game.”

Strax looks far too pleased, rising to pull out the opposite chair before resetting the board, and the Doctor nods to River before slipping away. 

He won't have much time—River can beat him in under three minutes, but she’ll give him ten—and he knows Vastra has something for him.

She’s waiting upstairs, as expected, in a small study. Jenny’s there as well, and their voices fall to a hush when he enters. 

“Just me.”

“Where’s Professor Song?”

“Humiliating Strax at chess.”

Vastra nods, and she and Jenny exchange glances. 

“Well?”

Vastra sighs. “I think perhaps you should sit down, Doctor.”

Their expressions, their quiet, a nagging voice in the back of his head tries to warn him, prepare him, but he’s been waiting so long—twelve years—and the last time they spoke she was closer than ever. 

“Did you find it?”

“Doctor—” Jenny starts, but Vastra exhales and nods curtly. 

“We found it.”

He stills, hope too wild. “Show me.”

“Sit down, Doctor,” Vastra says, her voice clipped, and he looks between them—regret, empathy, sadness, anger. He’s better about identifying these things than he used to be, but he still doesn’t understand. Doesn’t want to understand. 

“Just tell me,” he snaps. 

Jenny looks away. 

“It won’t work, Doctor,” Vastra says, voice calm and low. “The Hazandra.” 

“Why not?”

“There’s a...caveat,” Vastra explains, pulling a datapad from her desk. “The stones are intuitive, as you mentioned, and this one does grant wishes, but only to a point.” She shows him her notes, years worth of information and stories that he processes in moments. 

“What point? It gave this guy immortality and brought her wife back from the dead,” he says, prodding at the various entries. “How hard can it be to download a single consciousness?”

“Not hard at all,” Vastra allows, “But those instances… they’re singularities, Doctor. Irrelevant to anyone outside of that space and time.” She shakes her head. “It can’t change the course of the entire universe. Nothing has that much power.”

“Who said anything about the universe?” Vastra doesn’t answer, and when he finally looks up, they’re both staring at him with something like pity. It makes his skin crawl, and he shoves the tablet back into her hands. “I’m not raising an army, Vastra, I’m just trying to—”

The words stall, flicker in his throat and die. _Save my wife._ It repeats in his head, a loop that’s never silenced, always there, always vying for attention, _save her save her save her._

“Who needs an army when you have her?”

_You promised me an army, Doctor Song._

_I promised you the equivalent of an army. This is the Doctor._

He shakes his head. “No, _no,_ that’s not who we are. Not anymore.”

“Whether you like it or not, Doctor, you and Professor Song have enormous impact on the whole of creation.”

“We live in a house,” he argues. “We shop at the market.”

“Civilizations rise and fall depending on whether or not you decide to sleep in.”

“She never sleeps in. She’s got a bloody garden, now! With flowers and vegetables and—and—shrubbery!”

“But for how long, Doctor? Every time you leave Darillium, every time you set foot in the TARDIS, you risk changing everything. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, but it _does_ change. That much pressure...the gem would simply crack in two. I’m sorry. I’m truly, very sorry.”

“Then we won’t leave,” he snaps. “I’ll retire the TARDIS, we’ll get a cat.”

“Doctor.”

“Hell, we’ll get five cats, I don’t care—”

“ _Doctor._ ”

“Shut up! Just shut—shut—up—shut up, shut—” 

“Doctor?” 

Vastra starts, eyes widening and Jenny freezes. “River,” she manages. “Sorry, we were just—”

“Showing the Doctor our newly acquired collection,” Vastra interrupts, gesturing to a wall of antique books. “I thought you might like this one, Doctor,” she says, crossing to the shelves. “Dickens is still your favorite, no?”

The Doctor swallows, eyes fixed on the floor. He can’t look at her. Not now, not when she’s so alive and vibrant and dead all at the same time.

“I see,” River says, but he can tell by her tone she isn’t buying it, not for a second. “Well. Strax has gone out for the afternoon. I... may have implied his inadequacies at chess extended to other areas as well.” 

The Doctor’s fist hits the table. “Damn it, River, can’t you ever just do as you’re told!”

The silence that follows is deafening, River staring at him from across the room, stricken. She’s hurt, and shocked, but the anger is coming, rightfully so, and he can’t face it, not when his hands are shaking and his voice keeps cracking and before she can say a word he shoves past her down the hall, down the stairs, and out the back to the TARDIS. 

He slams the door behind him but it isn’t loud enough, doesn’t hurt enough. He wants to go, to run as far and fast as he can but he can’t, won’t do that to her, not again. He needs to get out of the control room, away from the ringing in his ears and bile in his throat; somewhere he can get the glint of a red gem out of his eye. 

\--

He doesn’t hear her, doesn’t realize she’s there until a cup of tea appears under his nose, still steaming. She’s watching him carefully, eyes fixed on him and ignoring—for now—the damage he’s done to the room, overturned chairs and smashed objects and pulled out wires. 

He licks his lips—dry and cracked—and slowly, carefully, takes the mug from her hands. “Thanks.”

She nods, and lowers herself to sit beside him against the wall, gaze flickering around the room. He expects a quip—something about the pot she liked, now in pieces, or Time Lord temper tantrums—something edged with anger. He’d deserve it. 

Instead, she sits silently, closely, arms and hips touching. Her warmth spreads through him faster than any drink or blanket could do, and he sighs, mustering the courage. 

“River…” 

Her name is all he manages. She doesn’t look at him, but whether it’s for her own sake or his he doesn’t know, and when she speaks her voice is soft, healing in the bitter room. 

“I know you and Vastra have been working on something. I’m presuming, since you’ve been hiding it from me that I’m somehow involved.” 

The Doctor winces, but he can’t take his eyes off her profile, the slope of her nose, the line of her neck as she keeps her head high. 

“I’d say judging by the state of the room, whatever you found out today wasn’t good.”

“Spoilers,” he murmurs, throat raw from screaming. 

She merely nods. “I figured as much.”

When she turns, her eyes are slightly glassy, slightly hurt, but more than anything determined, and kind. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again. Not in front of our friends. You want a row, save it for the TARDIS.”

The Doctor shakes his head. “I don’t want a row.”

“Good,” she says, “Because you’d lose the high ground very quickly.”

He snorts. “That implies I had any high ground to start with.”

Beside him, River smirks. “At least you’re learning.”

His lips twitch, and he takes a drink, hoping the tea will calm his nerves. He doesn’t know how to apologize, never has, but watching her out of the corner of his eye, smile at him so softly, he wants to. He wants to try. 

“River—”

He turns, and her finger falls to his lips. “I know.” 

He takes her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “I’m sorry,” he says anyway. 

Her eyes soften, body relaxing as she leans into him for a moment, and he lets himself count the beats of her hearts in her pulse. 

She doesn’t stay long, and he tries not to grumble when she stands, tightening his grip on her hand. 

“I’ll let you brood a while longer,” she says, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “But know this, Doctor.” He meets her gaze, expects censure, a warning, and instead finds only affection. He doesn’t know why he’s continually surprised, but it makes his hearts leap out of sync every time. “Whatever it is, I love you. I forgive you. And if you waste more than one more hour of our 24 years here hung up on things you can’t change…” Her voice cracks, and she inhales sharply, exhales before threatening, “I will shoot all of your hats.”

He blinks the tears back and squeezes her hand. “I’m not big on hats anymore.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Your guitar then.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

She’s serious, he can tell, but the press of her lips to his forehead softens the blow as she gently lets go of his hand. “One hour, Doctor. That’s all you get.”

He nods, promises to meet her back inside before then, and when she leaves, he doesn’t feel quite so fragile. But more than anything, he feels determined—the gem might not work, not for this, but he won’t let his friends’ hard work go to waste. He’ll find a use for it, somehow. 

And somewhere out there, he’ll find another way to bring his wife home. Whether it’s a gem or a diamond or a computer, or some new, previously untravelled road, he’ll get there. However long it takes. 

But for now, he’s got eight whole years, stretched out in front of him. 

He gives himself a bit longer, to drink his tea, to focus his thoughts. He once heard of a man on Calpithia who specializes in intelligent downloads; maybe after, he’ll pay him a visit. There’s a machine in the year three billion that theoretically recreates any organic matter with even the smallest sample of DNA. Vastra might have more ideas, once he apologizes, and he quickly finds that sitting on the floor doing nothing isn’t what he wants anymore.

Climbing to his feet, he brushes bits of paper and dust off his coat and trousers, picks up his tea, and makes his way to the door. When he looks back, just over the threshold, the TARDIS has already rearranged everything, everything back in its place, everything where it’s supposed to be. 

“Thanks, old girl,” he murmurs. 

The TARDIS hums in response. 

He barely manages a smile before there’s a pounding on the door, Strax's voice echoing through the halls. 

“I demand the Big Headed One remove herself at once! I challenge you to a dual to the death, for the Glory of Sontar!”

The Doctor rolls his eyes, then pales slightly as he hears River’s gleeful inquiry, “With grenades?” 

Picking up his pace, he just manages to follow her outside and pluck the weapon from her hand before she lets go. 

“Ah ah,” he scolds. “No grenades at Christmas.”

River gives him her best pout, which he admits in other circumstances would be hugely effective. “Christmas is over, sweetie.” 

Shaking his head, heedless of Strax stomping around in the background, or Vastra and Jenny lingering on the doorstep, he presses his lips to hers, just barely. “Christmas is never over, Professor.”

“Oh?”

Her voice is breathless, body curling into his instinctively. She follows his gaze when he looks up, grenade swapped for a sprig of mistletoe. 

“Do I even want to know how you—”

“Nope,” he says, and kisses her soundly. 

“I want that back, you know,” she murmurs when they break, nose brushing his. 

Despite himself, he grins. “Then I guess you’ll have to search me for it.”

“Oi, lovebirds! Catch!” 

He looks up to glower at Jenny just in time for the snowball to hit him squarely in the face. 

“An excellent shot, my boy!” Strax says, bending awkwardly to collect his own. “Now, when faced with human enemies, the weakest point is their—”

He doesn’t see River throw the snowball, only as it connects with the back of Strax’s head and he pitches forward into the snow. 

“River!” Jenny gasps, hurrying down the steps, Vastra behind her, a reluctant smile on her face. 

“What? I was busy,” she says, turning the Doctor’s face back to hers. “And I do hate to be interrupted.”

When she kisses him again, her lips are warm against the chill.


End file.
